


The Last Goodbye

by stellacadente



Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Funeral, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 20:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14221617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellacadente/pseuds/stellacadente
Summary: A tribute to the amazing artwork of @mellorian-j on Tumblr (also @mellorian-art)





	The Last Goodbye

That look. That moment, frozen in time.

It was the closest to a display of emotion that we got out of him, my brother, after our father was declared killed in action defending Darth Mekhis at Rhen Var.

When Malavai came home on leave after Father’s death, Mum was a mess. It was hard for all of us – especially Rissa, who was only 17 – to watch our proud, tough mother unable to pull herself together. We had expected her to draw up lists with tasks for each of us to help pull off the military funeral of the year. By then, my parents had been married for more than 30 years after all, my father gone for much of that. We all, knowingly or not, thought of their marriage as a calling much more than a personal relationship.

But Mum had lost her husband, the father of her children, her lover and her confidant and there wasn’t even a body to bury in the family vault. Since a Sith lord and Dark Council member had died in the battle, that stole all the attention away from the brave, selfless colonel who died protecting her work. The utter _lack_ of his death took more from her than she had to give.

For Mal, it was different. He and Father had a good relationship. Not warm, but good. Father was always more kind than stern, though he demanded “peak performance” from us children. Mal always came through. Second in his class in prep school, he pushed himself hard to emerge first at the academy. Father never expected him to commit for a military career; he thought my brother too introverted, too curious, too intelligent for command. Still, he shed tears of pride at graduation. We all did.

I always figured my brother as emotionally stunted, not knowing at the time just how deep his passions ran. I admit, I was a terrible older sister. I tormented my introverted, brilliant little brother from birth. I would have sung naughty songs and read scary stories and taught him dirty words while he was still in the womb if Mother hadn’t been there.

But watching her fall apart, and watching him swoop in and take care of everything from the military requirements to estate affairs to the family business reports, left me in awe. My stupid baby brother was now a man, different in personality but otherwise much like our father.

As I was then a newly turned out trauma surgeon, fresh from my first combat tour and stationed on Dromund Kaas, and the eldest, I should have taken charge of the family affairs. Instead, I took charge of keeping Mum functional. And trying, unsuccessfully, for Mal to take some down time, or even sleep.

He did it, though. He got the advocates and the lawyers and the estate all wrapped up while simultaneously making all the funeral arrangements. The military even sent an honor guard, after some persistent cajoling, a skill I never knew my brother even had. We decided to seal an empty dress uniform in a coffin so that Father could take his rightful place among our many distinguished military ancestors.

Though it should have been his right as a fellow infantryman to seal the family tomb, my brother charitably granted that honor to two of Father’s captains who had survived the battle.

After all the planning and the sleepless nights, it was a small, quiet burial, suitably formal yet warm and intimate. Family, colleagues and friends gave heartfelt eulogies. Mal stood stoic for the entire ceremony. Even a few generals shed tears, but not my brother. Then the captains sealed the vault, ignited the eternal flame and raised their blaster pistols in tribute. As everyone filed out from the cemetery, Malavai stood alone. He saluted Father one last time, then turned to go.

But he could not resist one last, lingering look. A stranger might not have picked up on it, but I, the big sister, the chief tormenter, the best friend and brat, I saw it all.

He pulled off his cap. His lips softened, his brows arced slightly downward, then a slight cowling of his eyelids. Others might need to weep or wail to show such feeling, but not him.

It was the real, final goodbye.

 

[ _Three months later, Druckenwell happened, and I did not see my brother again for almost 11 years. – Dr. Kayda Quinn._ ]


End file.
